


don't go far

by crimsonxflowers



Series: kinktober 2017 [3]
Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Role Reversal, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 01:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonxflowers/pseuds/crimsonxflowers
Summary: “I'm still not entirely sure what the point of this exercise is.”“Christ, Meyer, it's not anexercise,” Charlie snorts, and Meyer startles despite himself when Charlie’s hand drags up the bare skin of Meyer’s side. “And the point is gettin’ you off.”





	don't go far

**Author's Note:**

> written for kinktober 2017, for the day 14 prompt "role reversal / sensory deprivation." not all of the kink options this time but two outta three ain't bad. vaguely modern au if only because i don't think they'd be comfortable with any senses being hampered in canon scenarios but i couldn't pass up on the idea once i had it.
> 
> there are some notes on things that some people may want to be aware of, it's nothing majorly negative but i've put them in the end notes in case anyone is sensitive around issues of safewording.

“I'm still not entirely sure what the point of this exercise is.”

”Christ, Meyer, it's not an _exercise_ ,” Charlie snorts, and Meyer startles despite himself when Charlie’s hand drags up the bare skin of Meyer’s side. “And the point is gettin’ you off.”

“We tend to manage that fine without all this, I thought,” Meyer replies, the sardonic quirk of an eyebrow instinctive. Not that it matters much—he doesn't know where Charlie had the scrap of fabric currently blindfolding him hidden, but it’s wide enough to block out any peripheral vision, no matter what he does with his eyebrows.

Charlie snorts again, and Meyer can picture him shaking his head at him, curls bouncing with the movement. “Ain't you always sayin’ it's good to, whatsit, diversify?”

“This is hardly what that means and you know it.” Meyer tries not to think about not being able to see, the unsettling exposed feeling it's created—Charlie asked, and Charlie so rarely outright asks for anything, this is hardly anything to put up with—but the way he can't help but drum his fingers against the mattress probably gives him away.

Charlie’s weight shifts, the mattress dipping as he moves away, and Meyer feels unmoored for a second or two until Charlie settles in his lap. It's comforting to be able to feel Charlie against him, to feel less adrift and unsure with the pressure of him across Meyer’s thighs, but it doesn't stop him from tensing again when Charlie’s hand lands on the bare skin of his neck. Charlie goes still at that, and that’s not right, it’s not that big of a deal, he’s being jumpy for no reason when it’s just him and Charlie. So he makes a deliberate attempt to relax, letting Charlie guide his head back and to the side. That and Charlie’s weight shifting again is all the warning Meyer gets before Charlie presses his lips to Meyer’s throat. Not that he’ll ever admit it, but the kiss Charlie presses to the skin under his lips makes relaxing much easier.

“You say the word, and we stop,” Charlie murmurs, smothered against the skin of Meyer’s jaw. He drags his lips along Meyer’s skin, slowly. “Just wanna take care of you for once, no distractions.”

And _that_ makes Meyer swallow hard, the idea of being taken care of spawning a confusing mix of feelings he wishes it wouldn’t. “I don’t generally consider being able to see you a distraction, for the record,” he responds. It’s a perk, in all honesty, but Charlie’s ego doesn’t need any more feeding just now. And if Charlie wants to focus on him, well—Meyer will admit to a certain amount of tunnel vision when it comes to the sight of Charlie enjoying himself that might make focus in return somewhat difficult. He cautiously lifts a hand and brushes it along Charlie’s thigh where it's pressed against his hip. “Just… don't go out of reach, alright?”

“Not if you paid me,” Charlie says through a grin—Meyer doesn't have to see it, he can _hear_ the satisfaction in his voice, the prick—before he slides both hands along Meyer’s jaw and leans in to kiss him properly.

This, at least, is familiar, kissing Charlie, eyes closed—he doesn't need to see to know when to bite Charlie’s lip, which way to tilt his head to deepen the kiss. The way Charlie, almost unconsciously, rocks their hips together with light, teasing pressure as they kiss isn't new at all. What is new is the way Meyer can’t help but notice the fabric of Charlie’s sweatpants against the skin of his thigh, or how distracting the pads of Charlie’s thumbs brushing along his cheekbone is, dragging just below the blindfold’s edge. There's a rawness to the sensation, when there's nothing else to focus on, and Meyer shivers under Charlie’s hands.

Charlie grins into the kiss, his teeth pressed against Meyer’s lip another point of sensation Meyer never really would've focused on before. “Not so bad after all, huh?” Charlie says into Meyer’s mouth, and Meyer huffs.

“Don't be smug,” he chides, pressing up to steal another kiss. He pushes his hand up again, tentative still, and curls his fingers around Charlie’s waist, sliding it up the skin of his side and up to cradle his jaw. Before he can go any further, though, before he can tangle his fingers in Charlie’s curls, Charlie breaks the kiss with a little murmur of noise in his throat as he leans back a few inches.

“Mm-mm, no touchin’,” Charlie says, and his fingers circle Meyer’s wrist—grip light, and he pauses long enough that Meyer knows he's checking in—before he pulls Meyer’s hand away from his jaw. “See how you like gettin’ teased.”

Behind the blindfold Meyer’s eyebrow quirks upward again. “Really?” he says, and he can't help but wave his fingers in what he thinks is the direction of Charlie’s face. “How long are _you_ gonna go before you go back on that one?” Meyer’s not especially patient, when it comes to Charlie’s hands on him, but they both know he's got the patience of a _saint_ compared to Charlie.

Charlie hums, amused, and leans forward enough to slide his other hand over Meyer’s where it's resting against the sheets, gentle pressure keeping it pinned. “Longer’n you, I’m gonna guess.”

Meyer _has_ a response for that, but he doesn't get to use it. Charlie’s lips close around Meyer’s finger, absolutely no warning whatsoever, and the gasp breaks out of Meyer’s chest like he’s been punched. He can't help the way his hips jerk up against Charlie’s, the skin under Charlie’s lips too sensitive and the pressure of Charlie's mouth too unexpected to exercise any measure of restraint. It makes his head spin, how quick Charlie’s mouth around his fingers drags him down from distantly interested to so hard it hurts, and he barely manages to swallow a disoriented whine. Charlie just keeps going, sucking at the digits in his mouth before shifting to press his lips to Meyer’s wrist, biting along the heel of his palm, and it’s not _fair_ , Charlie knows what this does to him but it's so much _more_ for not knowing if Charlie will nip at the webbing of his thumb or press two of Meyer’s fingers against his tongue and suck—and it doesn't matter what he tries to anticipate because Charlie does it all. He's gracious enough to let Meyer tip forward and lean his forehead against his shoulder, but that's all the slack he's cut. He can’t even cover his mouth to hide any more embarrassing noises, because when he tries to move the hand _not_ currently being fellated, Charlie puts even more pressure on it, pressing it flat against the mattress. So his fingers twist hard into the sheet and he bites his lip instead.

Charlie lets Meyer’s fingers slide out of his mouth with a wet pop, licking another stripe up Meyer’s palm to wring another shudder out of him. “Don't be quiet, neither. How else m’I gonna know I’m doing good?” he asks, as if pinning Meyer’s other hand still wasn’t clear enough. Not that he gives Meyer any time to respond before he's got his mouth wrapped around Meyer’s fingers again, tongue pressed up against the pads and scraping his teeth along Meyer’s knuckles with the exact right amount of pressure to pull another moan out of his throat. Charlie sucks at the skin, _hard_ , lips sliding down until he hits the base of the digits and back up over and over.

It's easier with the blindfold, somehow, to be more vocal. Not _very_ vocal, he's never going to be as loud as Charlie, but noises slip out of his throat with every suck, every bite Charlie presses to his fingertips. He can't really catch his breath before Charlie does something else with that _fucking_ mouth of his to make Meyer lose it again, and calling it overwhelming is something of an understatement. After… Meyer can't even guess how long, Charlie hums again, pressing a kiss to the center of Meyer’s palm, before Meyer feels his grin pressed against the skin instead. “S’more like it.”

“You _fuck_ ,” Meyer bites out, straightening up, faint spots weaving in and out of the darkness beneath the blindfold, and Charlie just laughs, because he’s the worst tease alive and Meyer is going to kill him.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Charlie says, grin still in his voice, and Meyer shakes his head, not really trusting his voice while his head is spinning. The black in front of his eyes feels oppressive, like it's pushing in, and he's painfully aware of every inch of Charlie’s body where it's pressed against his own. There’s a little pause, and Charlie strokes his thumb along the center of Meyer’s palm, sending another little shudder through him. Meyer faintly realizes he's breathing heavier than he really should be, just before Charlie adds, quieter: “...Gimme a color?”

“Green,” Meyer says immediately—too fast, too brusque, even without seeing his face he can tell the noise Charlie makes is skeptical, and his thumb is still just brushing gentle circles along Meyer’s wrist. Meyer squeezes his eyes closed—for all the good it does making the spots go away—and breathes in, slowly this time. “...Yellow,” he amends, and Charlie’s thumb stops moving along his skin. Part of him mourns the loss, but it helps clear his head a bit. 

Charlie makes another little noise, apologetic, slides his other hand off Meyer’s to… somewhere, his lap maybe or against the mattress, Meyer can't fucking _see_ to know for sure. “Wanna stop?”

Meyer exhales, harsher than he means to. It's not a challenge, but—“No, just… give me a second?” He inhales again after Charlie agrees, fingers still gently circled around one wrist. It helps, that and the weight of Charlie still perched on his thighs like an anchor, and the spots behind the blindfold fade back into the inky black from earlier. He lets the breath out, slow, takes another, before he says, “Kiss me again?”

“’Course,” Charlie says, and his weight shifts a little bit across Meyer’s thighs, balancing more of his weight against the mattress. He moves Meyer’s hand to rest against his jaw as he leans in, and it helps keep Meyer from flinching when Charlie’s lips meet his again. It's light, the pressure of Charlie’s mouth against his, and it's more than enough to ground him by the time Charlie breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Meyer’s. “Too much?”

Meyer hums, not quite an agreement. “Little bit,” he admits, tilting his head cautiously to kiss Charlie again, once, quickly. “Not bad, just… a lot.” His mouth twists faintly, self deprecating. “You know. Hands.” It's hardly a normal thing to set someone off, especially to the extent that Meyer finds it overwhelming—though, if he's being honest with himself, when have they ever been normal? Still, it makes him lose his carefully-measured control enough that he's self-conscious about it even without the addition of the blindfold.

His hand shifts with the movement as Charlie (presumably) nods. “I can do other stuff,” he says, and Meyer can’t quite suppress an amused huff at that. He also can't suppress the way his thigh twitches as Charlie smooths his palm up under one leg of his boxers. “You good if these come off?”

After a second Meyer nods, and Charlie's fingers slide along Meyer’s hipbones as he hooks them under the waistband. The drag of Charlie’s skin against his sends little shockwaves up his spine. Good ones this time. “Hips up real quick,” Charlie mutters, pressing a kiss to Meyer’s cheek and inching down on the bed. Meyer’s hand slips away from Charlie’s jaw, and he rests it against the mattress as Charlie pulls the fabric down and away. He's more in control, and Charlie said no touching, so the game’s back on.

Charlie moves uncharacteristically slow, but as promised he never breaks contact with _somewhere_ on Meyer’s body. Every touch feels like static along Meyer’s skin—he has no way to _not_ focus on the sensation of Charlie’s palms sliding over his hips, his thighs, anywhere Charlie can reach. The weight of Charlie’s gaze on him is almost tangible, and he has to fight the impulse to shift under the scrutiny. “...I can feel you staring, you know.” 

“Lots to look at,” Charlie murmurs, and Meyer hopes the blindfold’s wide enough to cover the heat he can feel in his face at that. He presses his lips together and flexes his fingers against the sheets, giving into the urge to picture Charlie’s face right now—all flushed skin and messy curls, eyes hooded as he just _stares_ , and it's driving Meyer a little crazy.

Not that that stops the way he startles when Charlie slides his palms down Meyer’s chest. Charlie doesn't seem to mind, because one hand rests against Meyer’s hip and the other wraps around Meyer’s cock, stroking him slowly as Charlie inches forwards close enough to press his lips to Meyer’s jaw. Meyer bites his lip, swallowing the sound of mingled pleasure and frustration that wants to escape at Charlie's light touch. His hands are still at his sides—he's not calling quits on that just yet—but he does tip his head sideways, movements as controlled as he can make them while Charlie swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, to blindly kiss whatever part of Charlie’s face he can reach. The softness of the skin under his mouth and the satisfied hum that buzzes against his lips makes him think cheek, but once Charlie presses their mouths together it stops mattering.

Charlie’s strokes stay slow but steady as he drags his lips back over to Meyer’s jaw, kissing along the ridge to the patch of bare skin at the hinge of Meyer’s jaw. “Gonna suck you off,” he murmurs against the skin, and Meyer shudders as he punctuates the words with a tightening of his fingers and a bite to his throat. “‘Kay?”

The question takes a second to make it through the haze—softer now, easier to relax into than the urgency and surprise of before—and Charlie starts kissing down Meyer’s chest half a second after he murmurs approval, leaving bite marks and sucking kisses as he goes. His hand twists on Meyer’s cock, before sliding down to the base as Charlie licks messily along the underside to the tip.

Meyer’s good at staying quiet when he needs to—it's a skill that's proven useful more than enough times to make its cultivation worthwhile—but Charlie’s mouth on his cock is enough to rip groans out of him any time it happens. Now, with a sense removed, and only the memory of what Charlie’s lips look like, spread wide around his shaft, with the experience reduced to heat and slick and the little sounds Charlie makes as he takes Meyer deeper into his throat—

It'd be rude to not be appreciative.

“ _Fuck_ , Charlie,” he bites out as Charlie’s mouth envelops his cock, and he presses down, down, til his lips meet his fist, tongue pressed hard against the underside of Meyer’s dick. His head bobs, slow, and Meyer doesn't bother hiding his moan, sheet twisting hard enough between his fingers that, were he less _occupied_ , it would warrant concerns about structural stability. As it is, Meyer does not fucking care, when all his energy is going into not bucking into Charlie’s mouth.

His hips twitch up, he can't help himself, and Charlie moans against his cock, curled fingers flattening out along Meyer’s hipbone and taking him in deeper. Meyer squeezes his eyes shut beneath the fabric, biting his lip against a moan and his head dropping back against the headboard. 

Charlie looks _good_ like this—he doesn't need to see to know, dark lashes fluttering against the tanned flush in his cheeks, un-pomaded curls bouncing as his head bobs, spit-slick lips kiss-reddened and spread wide—the memory's as real as if he was watching, and the fact that he _isn't_ makes his nails dig into the mattress even harder. The tiny satisfied noises Charlie makes as he presses down inch by inch certainly don't make it any easier.

His fingers twist in the sheets, but it’s not enough, not when he’s so close, not when he's been dying to touch Charlie _somewhere_ this whole time, and he’s held out long enough that it doesn’t feel like losing the game when he says, “Charlie, let me touch, just—” 

And Charlie licks a wide stripe up his cock before he says, “yeah, c’mon,” and then his fingers are around Meyer’s wrist, dragging his hand to Charlie’s neck before he leans back in and his lips close around Meyer’s dick again.

He tangles his fingers in Charlie's hair, and Charlie moans around his cock when Meyer pulls, bobbing his head that much faster. Meyer’s fingers slide through his curls, the soft strands wound around his fingers an almost startling contrast to the heat of Charlie’s mouth. Meyer’s too close to do much more than drag his fingers through Charlie’s curls, eyes squeezed shut behind the fabric of the blindfold. Charlie swallows around his cock, and Meyer tugs at his curls in warning before he spends, groaning as Charlie presses further down instead of pulling off. He curls forward as Charlie swallows and pulls away, panting for a moment to recenter himself before reaching out still-blindly to drag Charlie up and press their lips together.

Charlie goes willingly, slinging a leg over Meyer’s lap to kiss him, but pulls back quicker than Meyer’d like. “...Not that I’m complainin’ about this, but. You want the blindfold off?”

And—yes. Yes he does. “Please,” he replies, and Charlie shifts, reaching up to untie the knot at the back of his skull. The blindfold falls away, and Meyer blinks against the brightness of their bedroom lights. Once his eyes adjust, though, _fuck_ if Charlie doesn't look even better than Meyer’s mental image, gaze a little hazy and spit-slick lips curled up in a smug satisfied grin before he leans in to kiss Meyer again.

“Like I said—not so bad, huh?” he murmurs into Meyer’s mouth, palm stroking up his side as he leans back in.

Meyer hums, returning the kiss consideringly. “Not _so_ bad,” he replies, before leaning back and quirking a brow—which feels _much_ more satisfying now that Charlie will see it. “Your turn next time, then?”

And Charlie snickers, pressing his lips to Meyer’s cheek with a murmured “we’ll see,” and the grin that splits across his face when Meyer snorts is the best sight in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> content notes: at one point meyer gets overwhelmed and veeery slightly dissociates a bit in a not-subspace way, charlie notices and asks for a safeword and meyer refuses at first but then gives the "slow down" safeword. not a big content warning but one i realize some people might appreciate.
> 
> i live for comments, or come talk to me about gangsters in love on [tumblr!](http://meyerlansky.tumblr.com/)


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